


Fortuneteller's Favourite

by Candamira



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Awesome old ladies, Coffee, Community: hd_owlpost, Don't copy to another site, Enemies to Friends, Fluff, Fortune Telling, H/D Owlpost Holiday Fest, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Polyjuice Potion, Post-War, Reading Tea Leaves, Tea, marketing efforts getting out of hand, reading coffee dregs, tea vs coffee rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-23 16:41:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17083964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candamira/pseuds/Candamira
Summary: Harry loves coffee. Not tea. So when the new operator of the ministry tea room, Caro D'Valmoi, refuses to serve coffee, Harry knows exactly what he must do. He opens the ministry coffee shop. A fight for customers ensues and marketing efforts might get a bit out of hand...





	Fortuneteller's Favourite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [germankitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/germankitty/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Sometimes, Fate Throws You A Fuzzy Pink (or Purple) Furball](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8217142) by [germankitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/germankitty/pseuds/germankitty). 
  * Inspired by [In the Pale Golden Light of the December Sun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12813708) by [Candamira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candamira/pseuds/Candamira). 



> Merry Christmas, germankitty! I couldn't help but notice that you and candamira plan to write another collab fic for this year's hd_owlpost. This sparked the idea to forge a new AU from bits and pieces I loved in the works of both of you and bring together some of my favourite characters of yours. I recommend to enjoy a cup of your favourite tea or coffee while reading!
> 
> My deep thanks to the mods for their hard work behind the scenes and for always being kind, understanding and helpful. And also to my fast and thorough beta, bixgirl1, who is an angel and jumped up to my rescue at the last minute.

"Earl Grey, please," Draco said over the jingle of the doorbells as he entered Mrs McMillagan's tea room on Knockturn Alley. 

"Don't tell me you were out book-hunting in this weaither, hen!" As usual, when she was worried, Mrs McMillagan's Scottish accent thickened and her beady brown eyes grew bigger with every inch she took in of Draco's appearance. 

"I was!" He lifted his book box as proof and put it down on the floor. "A scorching hot bodice ripper no respectable wizard would admit to having read. Some fifth-years had smuggled it into the Ravenclaw common room - for research only, of course."

"You went all the way up to Scotland? In November?" Mrs McMillagan shook her head. "But it's freezing!"

"Nothing a cup of the best tea on Knockturn can't fix," Draco said with a smile and hurried to add, "and on Diagon, too, of course," as she cocked her head and raised her brows. "And I can't say no when my old headmaster needs my help, can I? The students hid the book in the most ridiculous places until the prefect finally confiscated it and handed it to McGonagall — after he had to extinguish a small fire as it burned its way out from underneath an armchair cushion." 

"Aye, that sounds like a case of emergency worthy of risking your health." 

Draco smiled at the mild sarcasm, hung his snow-wet cloak on one of the hooks near the door, and cast a Scouring Charm at his boots. Mrs McMilligan was proud of her clean floors and crusty mince pies, and even moreso of her high quality teas, brewed to perfection in huge mugs. On Knockturn, people had little use for the dainty bone china cups used to serve tea on Diagon. 

She had already put his mug on the table closest to the fireplace as he slid on the chair beside hers. "I cannae believe it's snowing again," she said. Resting her chin on her palm she stared at the snow scurrying past the large shop windows. Only Draco's footprints disturbed the fresh white blanket that mercifully hid Knockturn's ugliness. 

"Doesn't look like they'll come out for an early afternoon tea." Draco waved his spoon at the houses up and down and across the street. "You should consider changing opening hours. I'm making much more money since I apply myself to book-hunting during daytime and just open the shop from eight to eleven in the evening." 

"You're reit," Mrs McMillagan said through a cloud of aromatic steam, "Knockturn isn't the place to run a decent business, no matter whether by night or day. An' it's gettin' worse. You remember that evil brute who took over Noggin and Bonce last week?"

"Of course, and I still wonder why someone would take over that shop. It can't be a lucrative business; I haven't yet come across a single spell or potion one needs a shrunken head for."

"Well, me neither. I guess they mostly shipped to New Orleans and Tahiti where Voodoo is practiced. Anyway, hen. Yesterday evening, I was just about to lock the entrance and leave, when he turned up again and told me he and his gang would destroy my tea room if I didn't pay them a monthly protection money!"

Draco choked on his tea, the hot liquid burning in his nose. "He didn't!" he croaked and fumbled for his handkerchief. "I hope you gave him a piece of your mind!"

"Oh, don't worry. I told him to think twice because he'll incur the Knockturners' wrath for ruining the only place where they get good tea after a nice raid or larceny. And one shouldn't mess with the folk around here." She lifted her chin and fixed Draco with narrowed eyes as if he was the culprit. "Or an old Scottish witch who knows a few dirty tricks herself."

"I doubt that settled the case," Draco said and stirred his cooling tea with verve.

Mrs McMillagan sighed into her mug. "He didn't seem too impressed," she said. "As I said, hen. Knockturn isn't the place to make an honest living, less than ever, actually."

"Tsk, Mrs McMillagan," Draco said, "William Wallace would turn in his grave at your lack of Scottish rebelliousness!" He emptied his mug and shoved it across the small table into Mrs McMillagan's hand. "Let's see what the tea leaves have to say on the matter." 

"Hmmm." She turned the mug this way and that, looking at the wet leaves at the bottom from different angles. "Weel, th' message is very clear today, hen. Big changes are about tae happen."

*

Edna Symonds sneezed into her handkerchief and stuffed it back into her sleeve. Damn Puff hair everywhere! She ignored her itchy eyes, wiped her palms on the short smock she wore over her robe and then lifted her hands to pat her simple bun. When she found everything was as neat as it should be, she firmly folded her hands on the counter and straightened her back. It wasn't she, after all, who ought to be nervous, but the young man who should appear any second for a first talk about taking over her tea room in the Ministry of Magic. 

The wooden counter was dry and warm under her fingers. Edna had wiped it down so often she knew the pattern of age rings and knotholes by heart. She sighed and ran her forefinger around one particularly strange knothole that always reminded her of an eye. She would miss doing this, would miss the quiet mornings and stressful lunchtimes. 

She glanced through the window at the small courtyard and shuddered. Several hundred, if not a thousand or more, Pygmy Puffs had lived there for some days before they'd managed to escape and flood the Ministry like a storm tide of fuzzy pink and purple furballs. Fortunately, Mr Potter had been able to contain them again, though not without the help of some skilled Ministry-elves. 

Two of that group were still busy cleaning up the mess the Puffies had left behind. Scattered kibble had attracted mice and rats and the small rodents sought shelter from the elves' Stunning Spells under the knocked-over troughs and water bowls. Not what one wanted to watch while enjoying a fine cup of tea!

Even worse was the Pygmy hair Edna still found everywhere — in cups, on the chocolate icing of her famous brownies, in the sugar bowls, and even floating on the tea she served. And no matter how often she Scourgified the cushions on the chairs, her customers inevitably left the tea room with a pink-furred backside.

But the worst was the allergy she'd developed. A tickle in her nose announced another sneeze and she pulled the hanky from her sleeve. No, she couldn't keep the tea room. That young Undersecretary, Harmony Stranger or whatever her name was, didn't seem to be very competent, given her abysmal handling of the Puff affair. Who knew what else would go wrong as long as she was in charge of the Beast, Being and Spirit Division? Imagine it hadn't been Pygmy Puffs but Acromantulas! Edna shuddered again.

"Mrs Symonds?" 

Edna straightened up and—

—sneezed. "Sorry," she mumbled into the depth of her handkerchief, which hopefully hid her blush. After she'd put it back into her sleeve and had cast a _Tergeo_ at her hands, she smiled up at the slender young man standing in front of the counter. "I'm Edna Symonds. Mr D'Valmoi?"

"In the flesh," he said, and smiled back. His pale blue gaze held hers until she had to blink and look away. Only to look at him again immediately because, with his pale golden hair that shone like a polished helmet in the low afternoon light, he was a much more attractive sight than the rat-gathering elves.

Three cups of Puff-hair-free tea later, matters were settled. Mr D'Valmoi had proven to be a tea expert worthy of becoming Edna's successor. She had no doubt the Minister would approve of her decision.

"I'm sure you'll do well, Mr D'Valmoi. Good luck!" She plucked her lucky plant from the counter and promptly sneezed again as the sudden movement shook some Puff hairs from the leaves.

"Thank you. To follow in your steps won't be easy, but I'll try my best. Good luck to you, too!" Mr D'Valmoi said, his clipped upper-class accent softened by his wide smile. 

"Come visit me one day and let me know how you're doing," Edna suggested, bewitched by Mr D'Valmoi's blue eyes. "I'll start a tea room on Diagon Alley with two business partners, Mrs McMillagan and Mrs Faggle."

"Mrs McMillagan?" Mr D'Valmoi sounded surprised. "I didn't know she had plans on leaving Knockturn Alley."

"You know her?" She would have to tell Edna everything she knew about this especially nice young man.

"Obviously not as well as I thought," Mr D'Valmoi murmured, plucking a Puff hair from his sleeve.

*

"Big changes, indeed," Draco told the face of Mr D'Valmoi that looked back at him out of the mirror in the tea room's staff toilet. It was time for another dose of Polyjuice; his golden hair had already taken on a silver shimmer and his eyes had regained their original grey. He took a small silver flask off the small shelf above the sink. Labelled as Pepper-Up no one would suspect it to contain Polyjuice Potion.

One of Mrs McMillagan's denizens was a black market dealer who specialised in supplying Polyjuice. Though the man had an abominable taste in tea — Gyokuro, a Japanese green tea famous for tasting intensely of a nori-algae Draco couldn't even stand the smell of — inviting him to a whole pot of the expensive tea had payed off. 

The wizard, who himself had one of the most unremarkable and forgettable faces Draco had ever seen, had shown Draco a big album filled with photographs of men and women to choose from. He'd promised that all his ingredient suppliers, as he called them, were hand-picked, reliable people who had all signed long-term contracts. 

"If you can afford it, you can live looking like him until you die," he'd said with a little laugh and tapped the picture of a slender, pale blond wizard with blue eyes Draco had decided on. "For most of my long-term customers, a weekly standing order has proven sufficient. Anonymous owl-delivery against cash, 14 flasks, twelve hours guaranteed minimum-duration of effect per flask. Terminable at Owl notice. First delivery available immediately upon signing of the contract and paying the first fee." 

Draco had signed the contract and the same evening a post-owl had delivered a small leather bag containing 14 twelve-hour-doses of Polyjuice Potion. A very convenient agreement indeed, and a necessary one. 

None of the self-righteous wizards and witches working at the Ministry would drink tea prepared by Draco Malfoy, known for having poisoned at least one fellow student at Hogwarts, and son of the Dark Lord's truest follower. Having saved Potter's life hadn’t been enough to redeem his and his family's former dark deeds. That's why he'd retired to Knockturn Alley, after all.

Draco gulped down the potion, shuddered at the gross taste, and watched himself turning into the unknown young, blond and blue-eyed man again. Satisfied, he smiled at his reflection. Mr D'Valmoi was ready to face his first day as the Ministry's new tea room operator.

*

"Harry, plea—"

Harry kicked the door to Kingsley's office shut behind him. "Yeah, I know. Not your decision to make," he muttered through gritted teeth and punched the lift button until this thumb hurt.

Coffee. Harry needed coffee, or his head would explode. To get coffee, he had to leave the Ministry and hope that Cindy hadn't already mothballed her coffee cart for the winter. Not that he could blame her; after a mild and golden October, November had descended upon Britain like a Fury. The lift door opened and Harry stepped in, punching the button for the Atrium.

He and Dawlish had been getting on poorly since Dawlish had become Head Auror, but still… Harry would've never expected him to let his personal dislike of Harry affect his choice of O'Halloran's replacement as Squad Leader. 

Carlo Marcelli was a capable Auror. Just like so many others. Whereas Harry had solved more cases and arrested more culprits than anybody else. He fucking deserved the promotion. But even though Shacklebolt was of the same opinion, he couldn't do anything to help on the matter. It was Dawlish's decision to make, and Dawlish's alone. 

Outside, the weather hadn't changed since the morning. Snow was falling, fat wet flakes that drowned out any noise like a thick blanket. Cindy's cart was nowhere to be seen. What else was to expect on a day like this?

Stomping back to the phone box through the knee-deep snow, Harry clenched his fists in the pockets of his cloak. He would have to make do with tea. That stubborn Mrs Symonds refused to serve coffee. Operator's decision, Shacklebolt had told him, shrugging in the apologetic way he had acquired lately.

Harry didn't care about the trail of wet footprints he left on the Ministry hallways on his way to Mrs Symonds tea room. Two elves were stunning and collecting mice and rats in the small courtyard behind, and the neat stacks of water bowls and troughs showed they must've been busy for a while. The Puffs had left their marks everywhere, even in Harry's office. Cute as they were, he was finding pink and purple hair everywhere, and it was annoying. 

"Coffee, black, no sugar," he said when he entered the tea room, eyes still trained on the elves. Little strokes fell big oaks, maybe Mrs Symonds would give in one day if he only insisted on coffee enough. 

"I'm sorry, Mr Potter. We only serve tea," a friendly voice announced that definitely wasn't Mrs Symonds'. "This is a tea room."

The voice belonged to a slender, pale blond wizard who smiled at Harry from behind the counter. He looked compliant enough; maybe he could be talked, or charmed, into serving coffee. Harry smiled back. "I didn't know Mrs Symonds hired a helping hand," he said.

"Oh, she didn't," the wizard said. "She left the Ministry to open a tea room on Diagon Alley. I'm the new tea room operator, Caro D'Valmoi." He smiled again and Harry couldn't help but notice the exceptional blue of his eyes. 

"Welcome to the Ministry, Mr D'Valmoi," Harry said, nearly twisting his tongue at the strange name. "I heard it's the operator's choice what they serve. Why don't you add coffee to the menu? You would make many people happy, and especially me." 

Mr D'Valmoi's blue gaze turned steely. "No, that won't be possible, as much as I regret it. I vowed not to break with Mrs Symonds established traditions. But I'm sure we can find a tea to your liking. Whatever coffee can do for you, tea can do better." 

Harry sighed and leaned heavily on the counter. "Fine, then. What do you recommend as coffee replacement?"

"That depends on what you drink coffee for. Because of the caffeine? Because of the taste?"

"Both," Harry said. 

"So theine concentration is important. Now tell me more about the taste you prefer." 

Hmmm. Harry looked away from Mr D'Valmoi; his handsomeness was too distracting. The elves in the courtyard were almost done, just some last patches of kibble remained. The two looked familiar… Right. They'd helped with the Puffs, and after the Ministry had been cleared of furballs, he'd ordered them to take care of the old Auror equipment room across the yard. But as far as he could see through the glass wall, the room was still crammed with unsorted furniture, broken brooms, faded and moth-eaten Auror robes, boots with broken clasps or holey soles and other things that weren't of use anymore.

"Mr Potter?"

"Yeah, right. The taste." Cindy sold three different kinds of coffee, Ethiopian, Guatemalan, and Sumatran. He liked the Guatemalan best. "The coffee I usually have is Guatemalan, and my trusted coffee expert told me it tastes of dark chocolate and spices." 

It was a big room… Of about the same size as the tea room.

"Then a Chocolate Chai is your tea. Classic Chai, that's black tea with Indian spices, hot milk and grated dark chocolate. I can leave out the milk, if you prefer." 

Harry didn't like the smug undertone in Mr D'Valmoi's voice. The suggested tea sounded interesting, and if he were in the mood for compromises, he'd give it a trial. But he wasn't in the mood to accept other people deciding what he could have and what not. Dawlish could go and stick his head where the sun never shone, and Mr D'Valmoi, nice and handsome guy that he was, wouldn't turn him into a tea drinker.

"I'm sorry, Mr D'Valmoi. It sounds delicious, really, but I don't want tea. I want coffee."

"Then, I'm afraid, you have to—"

Harry pushed himself away from the bar with new vigor. "I know exactly what I have to do. Thank you, Mr D'Valmoi."

*

"Harry, please, you know I can't accept that." Shacklebolt eyed Harry's notice of termination as if it were a poisonous snake. "I'm sure, if you just give it another year, Dawlish won't be able to put off your promotion any longer."

"Sorry, Shacks, but that's not your decision to make," Harry said and shoved the notice further towards Shacklebolt. "I've found a less dangerous way to make a living that at the same time will also make a lot of ministry employees happy, including me. I'll satisfy a need that's been neglected for far too long."

"And what would that be? You know the budget situation, I can't allow any new projects or upgrade training courses."

Harry enjoyed Shacklebolt's alarmed look quite a lot. "No, it's nothing like that. I think I'll leave it to Dawlish and Marcelli to pester you with those kinds of demands. All I need is your permission to use the old Auror-equipment room to open a coffee shop there."

The deep wrinkles on Shacklebolt's forehead smoothed, but his eyes didn't lose their suspicious look. "That's all? Really?"

"Yes." Harry smiled. "That's all." 

Shacklebolt sighed and reached for the notice. Lifting it up as if it weighed a ton he said, "Well, then. Permission granted." 

Harry got up, the chair creaking as he pushed it back. "Thanks, Shacks. I knew you'd understand." 

He'd almost shut the door behind him, when Shacklebolt called him back. A sly smile had crept onto his dark features. "You know I love espresso, don't you?"

*

The following Monday, Harry replaced the 'Grand Opening coming Monday'-sign with an 'Open'-sign, the O designed as a stylised coffee bean. The characteristic crack along the middle was replaced by a lightning bolt. 

"Do you really think Horoscoffee is a good name?" Cindy asked as she filled the bean container of the grinder with Guatemalan beans. 

"Absolutely. It's what people get — their favourite coffee and, if they want, a diviner reads their fortune in the patterns of the coffee dregs. Invigoration and a boost of self-confidence, what more can you ask for?" Harry winked at her. "Because what else could a talented diviner read than a successful day and luck with all pending tasks in the dregs of high-quality, 100% Arabica coffee like ours?" 

Cindy grinned back, brown eyes sparkling, and threw her long, dark brown hair over her shoulder. "Right. I'll focus on the positive aspects." She shot a look at the entrance, where a small crowd had already gathered."You should open the door before they die of caffeine deprivation!" 

" _Alohomora_ ," Harry said and flicked his wand at the glass door. It flew open and excited witches and wizards in robes of the colours of all departments flooded the small shop. 

"Welcome to Horoscoffee!" Harry grinned at his first two customers, Ron and Hermione. 

"Mate," Ron said, taking in the broad menu board at the wall behind the counter, "this is overwhelming. I have no idea what I'll have…" 

"You always have more milk and sugar in your cup than actual tea, so I'd say a Caramel Macchiato is perfect for you." Harry set to work immediately, glancing over his shoulder at Hermione who was still studying the menu.

"Elegant flavour with layers of maple and herbal notes that are balanced with a medium acidity and body," she read out loud. "How interesting. A medium Holiday Blend then, please. No milk, no sugar, I want to explore the layers of maple and herbal notes." 

"Perfect choice," Cindy said and reached out for a medium cup. "Do you want me to read your coffee dregs?" She looked up at Ron when Hermione shook her head. "Or you, perhaps?" 

"Thanks, Cindy, I don't think I can get any happier," Ron said, licking a foamy milk beard from his upper lip. 

"But I want a horoscoffee," a young witch in the grey robe of an Unspeakable said from behind. "Italian Roast sounds great. Intense with a rich, deep flavor and notes of caramelized sugar. I mean, how could you see anything else than a brilliant day ahead in the dregs of such a wonderful coffee?"

"A day that starts with a horoscoffee is always a great day!" Cindy put the cup on the corner of the bar for the witch to take it. "Come back with the empty cup, and we'll see what fate holds for you today."

*

Draco watched the small crowd outside Horoscoffee with concern. Potter seemed to have hit the bull's eye with his coffee bar. The first day, Draco had calmed himself by blaming people's curiosity for the new shop, but now, two weeks later, it was undeniable that Potter's business was a success. Coffee was what the ministry employees longed for. 

"Fit loch daein', hen?" Mrs McMillagan asked and put her handbag on the counter. 

"If that's a new green tea, I haven't heard of it yet," Draco said with a smile. 

"She wants to know how you're doing," another old witch explained as she put her handbag up on the counter beside Mrs McMillagan's. 

"Oh, sure. I'm fine. And you are?" He looked at her, brows slightly raised. She was a dainty little witch with a face like a baked apple — wrinkled, sweet, rosy-cheeked. And she exuded a mighty wave of lavender scent.

"May I introduce you to my new business partner, Mrs Faggle?" Mrs McMillagan said. "We read about Harry Potter's new coffee shop in the _Prophet_ and wanted to offer you support and encouragement. Only if you need it, of course. The free fortune telling seems to attract a lot of customers," she vaguely waved in the direction of Horoscoffee, "and we thought you could do with your own diviner. Mrs Faggle offered to check the coffee for quality and Potter's diviner for accuracy, while I read the tea leaves for your customers."

Draco hugged her over the counter. "Mrs McMillagan, you're the best. And you, too, of course, Mrs Faggle. What a brilliant suggestion! I'll announce free fortune telling on the menu board and send an owl with a news release to the _Prophet_ and the _Oracle_ right away." 

Mrs McMillagan patted his arm. "You do that, hen. Meanwhile, Mrs Faggle and I will run the show here." The two old ladies grabbed their bags and joined Draco behind the bar. 

"You can put your cloaks and bags in the staff room." He went ahead to fetch a rug and chalk to re-write the ad board at the entrance he usually used to announce the tea-of-the-week and seasonal offerings. "I'm sorry there is only one toilet," he said and pointed at the door. 

"Don't worry, hen, we'll cope for a few hours, right, Mrs Faggle?"

"Of course, dearie."

Draco almost fainted at the intense whiff of lavender scent that filled the room when Mrs Faggle waved her wand and sent her lavender-coloured cloak flying to one of the hooks beside the door of the shop. 

"Who manages your tea room while you're here?" he asked, once the dizzying subsided. "I don't want your business to suffer in favour of mine!"

"Mrs Symonds is a very capable and experienced tea room operator," Mrs Faggle said. 

"Yes, she told us to help you as you were a fine young man," Mrs McMillagan added and the two giggled like school girls. "As if I didn't know that already."

*

Harry gritted his teeth when he opened Horoscoffee on Monday before Christmas. The crowd at the entrance was smaller than usual; despite his and Cindy's efforts, D'Valmoi had regained most of his patrons, mostly thanks to the two old witches who helped with the bar. One was a tea leaves-reader of exceptional skill, as Ron had reported, after Harry had asked him to check D'Valmoi's tea for quality and the fortune teller for accuracy.

But Harry wouldn't abandon the field that easily. He cast a charm on the ad board in front of the shop and grinned as the writing lit up whenever someone passed the shop. 

Also, D'Valmoi wasn't the only one who had friends at the _Oracle_. Neville wrote a weekly column about organic food for them and had happily recommended Harry's Organic French Roast, which had balanced out things a bit between D'Valmoi and him. Today Luna would drop by for an exclusive interview and a coffee tasting, and she had promised to feature the article on the front page of the _Quibbler_ tomorrow. 

The tables were about to turn again.

"Your Italian Roast," he said and put the red holiday cup on the counter. The young Unspeakable, who started every day with a horoscoffee, grabbed the cup and sighed. 

"I'm sorry, I don't have time for the dreg reading today," she said in between her first sips. "Things always go crazy before Christmas. I wish you'd send a coffee trolley to our department in the afternoon. We all could do with a hot coffee then, but coming up here to get one is just not on."

"I'm sure we can help with that," Harry said and exchanged a glance with Cindy. "Watch out for us in the afternoon!"

After the morning rush had subsided and they were cleaning up and restocking beans, he finally found the time to talk to Cindy. "Do you think you can shrink your cart enough to make it fit into the lifts? We could earn a fortune with direct-selling in the hallways!"

Cindy nodded and opened her mouth, when they both winced at the sound of a swarm of birds soaring past the entrance. "Merlin's beard!" Cindy cried. "What has Undersecretary Granger set loose this time? Gargoyles? Hippogriffs? Thestrals?"

"Calm down, Hermione learned from her mistake." Harry walked around the counter and towards the entrance. Outside, wizards and witches were ducking and shielding their heads with bags, files or their bare hands from a giant flock of paper gliders. Harry snatched one out of the air and returned to the safety of the shop. 

"Uh-oh, Mr D'Valmoi," he said, once he'd smoothed the creases out of the piece of parchment. "I doubt you did yourself a favour with that campaign." 

"What is it? And what has D'Valmoi to do with it?" Cindy asked, trying to look over Harry's shoulder. He gave her the flyer. 

"Free tea tasting every morning between ten and eleven o'clock. Taste as many teas as you like and enjoy a free reading of your tea-leaves." She leaned her backside against the counter and nudged Harry's arm with the rolled-up parchment. "Sounds like a clever move to me. It's exactly the time when business is low, and a free tasting always attracts lots of people."

"While that's right, the way he advertised it didn't go down well with people. You should've seen how the paper gliders attacked them!" He grabbed the parchment roll and smacked Cindy's shoulder. "Felt that? This is thick parchment, I wouldn't be surprised to hear some folks lost an eye! The gliders also blocked the lifts." 

*

"Harry. Mr D'Valmoi." Shacklebolt nodded at them and sat down behind his desk without inviting them to do the same. Draco didn't like where this was going. 

Shacklebolt tapped on the bigger one of two stacks of parchment lying in front of him. "These are all complaints about your advertising efforts. Your paper gliders attacked people, Mr D'Valmoi, and you can consider yourself lucky nobody has sued you for malicious injury. Harry, the coffee cart blocks hallways and elevators, and the flashing ad board outside your shop is an annoyance to the employees working in the nearby offices." 

Draco relaxed his rigid pose and unfurled his fingers he'd clenched to fists in his pockets. This wasn't about the Minister having discovered who he really was, this was just about the way he and Potter ran their shops. Though, the Minister couldn't be trusted. Not when he was talking in that slow, quiet voice. It was the same voice he'd used when he'd sentenced Draco's father to lifelong confinement at Azkaban. 

Shacklebolt lifted his forefinger from the first stack and jabbed it at the second. "And these are complaints from department heads whose personnel's behaviour is getting out of hand because of what your respective diviners tell them. Not a good day to take a risk? Auror Hobson won't leave his office and Marcelli has to reschedule the whole staff. Nothing can go wrong today? Auror Myers throws himself in the way of lethal hexes because he feels immortal. I expect you to send him flowers and make an apology visit at St Mungo's." The Minister's big fist hit the complaint forms like a hammer. 

"Of course, Minister Shacklebolt," Draco said, nudging Potter, who was bristling. Potter’s working jaw muscles had given him away since first year at Hogwarts. "We'll do it today."

Potter opened his mouth, but instead of the expected finger-pointing Draco had gotten used to at Hogwarts, he simply said, "Sure. Fine. Today."

But the Minister wasn't appeased that easily. His brows knit together like clouds before a thunderstorm. "Do you have any idea how much trouble your leaf-reading ladies caused? A perfect day to confront someone and solve a festering conflict? The atmosphere in most departments is poisoned because everyone told everyone else what they didn't like about each other. Be it the scent of their perfume or their lack of commitment to work, nobody held back. Out with it, the fortune teller said it's the thing to do today."

Draco glanced at Potter. His eyes were wide behind his specs and his shoulders slumped. Potter was as taken aback as he. 

"Shacks, we had no idea. I'm sorry!" he croaked. 

"That's incorrect," Draco said, and before he could add anything else, the air was knocked out of him by Potter's elbow hitting his ribs. 

"Oof!" He rubbed the spot to ease the pain. "What—"

Potter only glared daggers at him.

"If I had been allowed to finish speaking, I would've said, _we_ 're sorry," Draco said, glaring more daggers at Potter. "Both of us."

"Though it was you who—" 

"Harry." Shacklebolt hadn't raised his voice, but Potter seemed to recognise the calm tone for what it was — a warning.

"Seriously, gentlemen," Shacklebolt continued, "this fight for customers has to stop. If you can't run your businesses without disturbing the workflow or endangering employee health, I’ll be forced to replace both of you with more peace-loving operators." 

He leaned back and folded his hands on his belly. "You have one chance. Another complaint and I'll have to sign your dismissals." 

*

They had left Shack's office in silence that became more awkward by the second. Harry shoved his hands deeper in his pockets and cleared his throat. 

"Um, how about I invite you to a cup of coffee and we talk about what to do. I, for example, will cancel the charm on the ad board and tell Cindy to operate the cart only in the Atrium. There's enough space, even if a queue builds up."

D'Valmoi shot him a glance and nodded. "Talking is fine, but only if you come over and have a cup of tea with me."

Harry grinned. D'Valmoi truly was a worthy adversary. Even though Harry'd never admit it, their competition had been fun. Of course, there had been competition in the Auror team, too, but it hadn't been a fair fight. He'd always known Dawlish didn't like him and that he was fighting a lost cause. 

With D'Valmoi however, it was a battle of will and wit, and they were evenly matched. Like Malfoy during their school years, D'Valmoi was a constant challenge; Harry never knew what he was up to next. Watching D'Valmoi and trying to anticipate his next move spiced up his days with suspense and excitement. 

"Okay, I'll come and try that Chocolate Chai you recommended when we first met," Harry said because someone had to be the adult here and make the first move. 

"Give me a few minutes to tell Mrs McMillagan and Mrs Faggle that we have to take tea-leaf-reading off the menu." D'Valmoi sighed and ran long elegant fingers through his shiny hair. "Mrs McMillagan never meant harm, she'll be devastated when I tell her the consequences of her fortune telling." 

"Make her a calming tea before you tell her," Harry said and winced when D'Valmoi hit his ribs with a pointy elbow. "What was that for? I just gave you some serious and helpful advice, and you—"

"There he is," someone shouted down the hallway. Marcelli, his Italian lilt was unmistakable. 

"Out of the way, Potter!", Marcelli yelled, crimson robe flapping behind him. 

Harry turned around to check whom they were after, but the hallways behind him and D'Valmoi was empty.

" _Stupefy!_ " Marcelli roared, and Harry turned again, just in time to watch a red flash of magic hit D'Valmoi square in the chest. All Harry could do was to catch him and prevent him from hitting the floor too hard. 

"What the hell, Marcelli!" 

"Get away from him, Potter! He's wanted, haven't you seen the warrants of apprehension? They're up since yesterday." Marcelli shook his head at Harry. "You didn't, did you? Too busy harassing everyone with your silly coffee ad."

Harry stepped in front of the unconscious D'Valmoi and crossed his arms. "I was busy, right. Why is he wanted? He was here all day, yesterday. And today, too." 

Marcelli pulled a warrant from the breast pocket of his robe. "He tried to rob Gringotts."

Harry laughed. "You're kidding me. No one tries to rob Gringotts. It's impossible!" The Goblin's at Gringotts were paranoid since his, Hermione and Ron's escape through the roof on a dragon, and put great emphasis on the latest security wards. 

"Well, he did. One of the Goblin's security cams made this. Is this him or not?" Marcelli shoved the warrant in Harry's face.

"Since when do they rely on cameras?" Harry asked as he plucked the piece of parchment from Marcelli's hand. "Don't they trust the wards anymore?" The photograph was razor-sharp. In a grainy picture one could've put it off as a striking resemblance, but the photograph Marcelli held up in front of Harry's eyes left no doubt - it was D'Valmoi.

"Maybe he has a twin?" Harry said, though D'Valmoi had never spoken of a brother. Actually, he'd never told Harry anything about his family.

"Maybe." Marcelli's tone made clear he'd already dismissed the possibility of a twin brother. "Meanwhile, until we've investigated properly, he'll stay in custody. You're welcome to report your testimony." He nodded at his colleague. "We're done here. Take him to detention cell four." 

The young Auror murmured a Locomotor Spell and with a swish of his wand, he lifted D'Valmoi off the ground. Floating body in tow, he followed Marcelli to the elevators.

*

"Arrested? Mr D'Valmoi?" Mrs McMillagan blew on the Chamomilla tea Harry had prepared for her. "Because he tried to rob Gringotts? Whit pish is 'at, everybody knows it’s impossible!" 

Mrs Faggle paced in front of the bar, exuding a new whiff of lavender with every step. "Such a fine young man, never would he do such a thing! Aside from that, he was here all day, he never left the shop. We would've noticed!" 

"Mr Potter, what can we do?" Mrs McMillagan's beady brown eyes swam with tears. "He's innocent, you know that. You kept sight of him all day, like you do every day."

Harry cursed the blush heating his cheeks. "Competition monitoring is what businessmen do, okay? But you're right. He was here all day. We can all give testimony, but they won't release him before investigations will have come to an end. Not before they found out who tried to rob Gringotts."

"He can't have been at two places at the same time," Mrs McMillagan said. "The resemblance must be an unfortunate coincidence."

"Oh, there are ways, I've seen it myself." A time-turner could be an explanation to the mysterium of D'Valmoi serving tea while robbing Gringotts. "Has he worn jewellery lately? A necklace, maybe? Something like an hour-glass on a chain?"

Mrs Faggle returned from another round up and down the bar. "No, Mr D'Valmoi never wore jewellery. I would've noticed, I have an eye for tasteful accessories." She touched an amethyst brooch pinned to her lavender twin-set. "Poor Mr D'Valmoi, he doesn't need that on top of his illness. We must bring him his medicine, at least. Mr Potter, they will allow him his medicine, won't they?" 

"Illness? To me he looked as healthy as they come. What kind of medicine are we talking about?" Harry asked. "Show it to me. Quick, before the Aurors return to search the shop."

"I'll get it," Mrs McMillagan said, and when she returned from the staff toilet, she put a small silver flask on the counter. 

Mrs Faggle looked at it with narrowed eyes. "Such a pretty flask. And the writing on the label is really hard to decipher. No wonder I mistook it for liquid soap. It took me three or four Cleansing Spells to get rid of the smell."

Harry took the flask and turned it around in his hand. Smooth and cold it gave nothing away, and the label was crabbed from heavy use. He removed the stopper and sniffed. The smell made him wrinkle his nose, and a cold prickle ran over his skin. Though awful, it was a familiar smell. 

"That's Po—" 

"Pepper Up, I think," Mrs McMillagan said with a certain sharpness to her voice.

Mrs Faggle shrugged. "Do you think so? Then it must've gone bad." 

Mrs McMillagan huffed and pressed her lips together. Harry bent down and shoved the tea cup aside to look into her eyes.

"Mrs McMillagan, if you know anything—"

Heavy footfall sounded in the hallway. Marcelli had great timing.

"Put that down, Potter! Hobson, you search the back office, Carson, you do the guest area, and I do the bar." Marcelli snatched the flask from Harry's hand. 

"This doesn't look as if it belongs to you," he said. "And if it does, you'll get it back once we'll have gone through all pieces of evidence." 

*

Back at Horoscoffee, Harry cancelled the Flashing Charm and sent a paper glider message to Cindy, who was selling coffee from the cart in the hallways. She returned to the shop ten minutes later and Harry filled her in on what had happened.

"No more horoscoffees?" she said, "but reading the dregs is so much fun. Customers love it!"

"Yes, but if we want to keep our jobs, we must stop the fortune telling. Can you take over the bar for today? The ladies and I must help Mr D'Valmoi."

"Of course." Cindy smiled and tucked a strand of her espresso-coloured hair behind her ear. "Go and help him. And don't worry too much, everything will turn out fine. I've read your dregs in the morning, today something ugly will turn into something beautiful."

Harry rolled his eyes at her. 

*

"Mr D'Valmoi?" Harry pried through the bars of cell four at the figure huddling under a grey blanket on the plank bed. Mr D'Valmoi jerked up and even in the face of adversity, Harry couldn't help but grin. D'Valmoi looked uncharacteristically messed up. His always neatly-combed hair stood up in thick spikes a cockatoo would've been proud of.

"I'm so glad to see you," D'Valmoi said, tossed the blanket aside and approached them. He reached out for Mrs McMillagan's hands through the bars of cell four. "I need my medicine, the effect of my morning dose is already wearing off. Would you go and fetch it for me?"

Mrs McMillagan covered his hand with her free one. "Aam sorry, hen. I cannae. The Aurors took it."

D'Valmoi groaned, let go of her hand and ran his fingers through his hair again. Which looked a bit paler than usual. And his eyes… they weren't blue anymore. They were of a grey Harry would recognise everywhere.

"Malfoy? Is that you?"

D'Valmoi — Malfoy — groaned again and tucked at his hair that had lost the golden shimmer. "Yes, Potter, you genius. It's me."

"But why…?" Harry didn't know what to ask first.

"He didn't dare to apply for a job in the Ministry as Draco Malfoy," Mrs McMillagan said. "Can you blame him? He wanted the job so badly, and the Minister would've never hired Draco Malfoy. And nobody would've drank his tea out of fear he'd poison them." She put her hands on her hips and stared at Harry as if he had accused Malfoy of poisoning him.

"As if a fine young man like him would ever do such a thing," Mrs Faggle chimed in. 

"Medicine, huh?" Harry said, understanding dawning. "You know the misuse of Polyjuice is not a trivial offence…"

"I would've never done it if I had seen another way to get a decent job outside Knockturn Alley," Malfoy replied, a hint of temper flaring up in his voice. "It all worked out fine. I could've sold tea in my shop until the twelfth of never if that shady Potions dealer hadn't sold the same Polyjuice to the idiot who tried to rob Gringotts." He hit his palm to his forehead. "What a dimwit! Everybody knows it's impossible."

"Malfoy," Harry said slowly, "is selling tea to ministry employees really your dream job?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Why, yes. You know I always had a knack for potions. Tea isn't much different and smells better. And I like working by day and sleeping by night, instead of the other way round."

"Then I might have a plan," Harry said. "Listen…"

*

"Harry. Mr Malfoy." Shacklebolt sat down behind his desk without inviting them to do the same. It was like a replay of the scene in the morning, only that his dark face was much more grave. "I'm listening." 

"Shacks, Malfoy only used Polyjuice because he thought he would never be able to show up outside Knockturn Alley again without people throwing rotten fruit at him. He was afraid, and—"

Malfoy's elbow hit him hard in the ribs. 

"I'm trying to save your arse here, okay?" Harry hissed and rubbed his hurting ribs. "Pride is a dispensable trait, so just swallow it and help me make the best of the situation!"

"I'm still listening," Shacklebolt said with his dangerously velvety voice. 

"Oh, right, sorry." Harry shot Malfoy one last, unnerved look. "He can give you the name and location of the Potion dealer we, uh, the Aurors, I mean, have been after for more than two years now. I'm sure the man will sing like a nightingale and tell you who tried to rob Gringotts. In exchange, you allow Malfoy to continue operating the tea room."

Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow. 

"As my business partner. No more marketing wars, no more fortune telling. Just two peace-loving operators supplying your employees with high quality tea and coffee. What do you say?"

Shacklebolt folded his hands over his belly and looked at Harry, then at Malfoy. Then he sat up and stabbed the wooden surface of his desk with his forefinger. "As I haven't received any more complaints since we talked in the morning, both of you will keep their jobs."

"Thanks, Shacks!" Harry beamed at his friend. "You're the best."

"Ouch," Malfoy said and clutched his side, where Harry's elbow had landed hard. "Thank you, Minister Shacklebolt. There'll always be a free cup of your favourite tea waiting at my shop. Ouch!"

Harry just glared at him.

"Right. Our shop."

"We'll need a new name."

"Yes, I always thought Horoscoffee was a terrible name."

"I'm still listening," Shacklebolt interrupted, but laughter rang in his voice. 

*

Harry looked up at the new shop signs over the entrances of the former Horoscoffee and Tea Room. Fortuneteller's Favourite had a nice ring. The apostrophe after the s was a stylised coffee bean and the characteristic crack along the middle had been replaced by a lightning bolt, just like in the Open sign. The double l’s in Fortuneteller were replaced by two green tea leaves.

"I like it," he said.

"Me too," Malfoy said. 

"Ready for your first day behind the counter as Draco Malfoy?"

"No," Malfoy said and deftly avoided Harry's elbow.

*

"Vanilla Latte," Marcelli ordered as he flounced into Harry's shop the next morning. 

Harry gave him a pointed look and hoped it told Marcelli what he thought of Aurors who drank Vanilla Latte. Real Aurors drank Double Shot Vanilla Latte, for Merlin's sake!

"Nice front page interview in the _Prophet_ yesterday," he said over the hissing of the milk frother. "I'm glad you were finally able to put that wannabe-Gringotts-robber behind bars." He put the cup with Marcelli's Vanilla Latte on the counter.

"Me too," Marcelli said, after slurping the foam from his drink. "I still can't get over the fact he even tried. Everybody knows it's impossible."

They nodded in amicable silence. 

All was well.


End file.
